The Girl in the Striped Pyjamas
by charliapollo
Summary: While staying with an Aunt in Lower Saxony, Gretel stumbles across a fence. Fences like this exist all over the world. Gretel isn't going to cross this fence, but she will help someone else to.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

I can feel the lactic acid burning in my calf muscles but I ignore the pain and kept cycling. With each push, with each burst of pain, I'm carried further and further away from the village which I have grown to loath. I'm a city girl at heart, from Berlin. When Mutter and I returned from Auschwitz I thought we were going to stay there but it's 1944 and the aid raids have gotten really heavy so we moved to Bollersen in Lower Saxony, where my aunt lives. It's a dreary place and I don't get on with the locals and their weird ways. It's quite odd, as everything seems to be building up to a terrible crescendo. The Americans and British invaded France two months ago, which fills me with a sense of dread. That was June and it's August now, nearing the end of the month. It's back to school in a few days and I sometimes I wonder if in the future there'll be a school to go to. I stop myself. Sometimes I scare myself by thinking the most defeatist thoughts. Like how Germany might not win the war after all… But then I stop and remind myself that with our Fuhrer we cannot lose. "_Deutschland vor allem,_" I whisper the words now, over and over, in case I forget. _Germany above all, Germany above all._ There was a time when I never had to remind myself that Germany was the better nation. But that was before Bruno disappeared.

Bruno. My little brother. I think about him now, as I peddle even harder up a small inline. His innocent blue eyes and the messy black hair... All his annoying little habits that I miss more than words can say. My little brother who disappeared without a trace. Or did he? They say soldiers found his clothes in a pile, next to that fence. Only one explanation surfaces in my mind. An explanation that I can never tell anyone because it's too horrific for even me to consider, let alone Mutter. The idea that Bruno, small, innocent, naïve, Bruno, swapped his clothes for that grubby stripped uniform and climbed into hell itself. It's true that I don't know exactly what went on in that camp, but I'm not stupid. I know the conditions weren't great. Pavel always looked so dirty and sad. But then again they're Jews aren't they? They made Germany lose the Great War and they're lazy and work-shy. So it goes without saying that they should be made to work for the good of Germany. If Bruno walked into that camp, surely someone must have seen him? Why didn't they say something?

I can feel tears pricking at my eyes. I'm not sentimental, not usually, but somehow I always cry when I think of Bruno. And how if he is dead or even just trapped in a place full of Jews it must be their fault. Who else would be cruel enough to imprison a boy? I know Vater thinks this too. I heard him murmuring under his breath, shortly before I left Auschwitz. I push the thought from my head but as much as I try not to think of my brother his boyish smile is never far from my thoughts.

I've been cycling for a mere 20 minutes now but it seems much longer. It always does when one is alone with ones thoughts. I'm nearing a cluster of trees which should provide some protection against the sun's heat. Another 10 minutes passes in a blur and before long I have exited what turned out to be a forest. It's funny, cycling blissfully in the deep German countryside, alone. One could almost feel carefree. Well as close to carefree as I'm likely to get.

That's odd… far away, in the distance, I can see a fence. A shiver runs through me. I recognise that fence. I figure I must be imagining things because the last fence I saw like that was in Poland… in the east. I stop for a moment and take a sip of water from my bottle, as if that will cure my hallucination. As if what I am seeing in merely a mirage. Still, despite this, I cycle closer. It becomes quite clear that this is indeed a fence like the one at Auschwitz. The barbed wire, twisting and turning at the top. The quiet hum of a deadly electric current filling the air. I dismount and advance towards it before gulping and wrinkling my nose. There's a smell I recognise… combined with something much worse. I can't place a finger on it. All I know is that I'm repulsed. Are there Jews here? That doesn't make sense. All the Jews were deported to the East; dumped in the Ostland, I heard. Maybe it's just traitors or parents who complain about their children's HJ duties. Probably. If that's the case I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for the smell. I frown, and wage an internal battle in an attempt to convince myself that I'm right.

I reach out my hand and hold it a mere cm away from the fence. I can feel my hairs stand up on end. There's no doubting that this fence is deadly. Still, I'm both curious and repelled so I haul my bike up and walk along the edge of the fence until another shape comes into view. Firstly it's a dot but then as I move closer it morphs onto what may have been a human being. It's standing, almost motionless, staring out through the fence. The thing that scares me most is that I can't tell if it's a boy or girl. It wears a long, striped blue and white dress-like sack. Feet are grubby and unprotected. The head has been shaved and they're so thin their body has no figure whatsoever. There's just skin and bones. I'm scared. My first instinct is to run, to flee. But I can't help but be curious.

"H-Hallo," I say, surprised I can speak at all.

The person, if you can call it a person because it looks more like a skeleton, glances at me. "Hallo,"

It's then I realise that it's a girl.

"I'm Gretel," I say, hoping to prompt a conversation or at least a response. "What's your name?"

She doesn't say anything but her confused expression turns to anger and she turns away, blanking me. I'm a little hurt at that but it's not like I can do anything. The place is giving me the creeps so I turn around and pick up the bike.

"I don't think I have a name anymore," The words are a barely audible whisper which I can hardly hear over the sound of the wind. "They took it from me, just like they took everything else from me,"

Her accent's straight out of Berlin. She's German…

"Of course you have a name," I whisper back.

A million emotions boil inside of me as the reality hits me in the face. This girl! She must be a Jew so she's not German after all ... Jews are supposed to be evil, supposed to ruin everything. But this girl here, she's not like that. She seems so helpless…. And why is her hair shaved? Bruno once had his hair shaved but that was only because he got nits and he's a boy. I had to use a special, but rather horrid shampoo. Girls don't have their hair shaved, especially not girls my age.

"I did, once," says the girl. "My parents called me Anna,"

"Pleased to meet you, Anna,"

She shakes her head and runs a hand over the back of her skull. For a moment I think she is going to cry but she just looks really, really angry.

Suddenly I ask the question that's been preying on my mind for some time. "Are you a Jew?" I ask finally.

"It depends," Anna says coldly. "I have never practiced any religion but nowadays being Jewish seems to be a collective term for anyone the Nazis don't like and want to kill,"

"Kill," the word echoes in my head. Does Vater want to kill people like Anna? Surely not. He's a servant of his country, intent on ridding the world of the scum of the Earth… ridding? Doesn't that mean kill? I remember one time when Bruno and I were having a lesson with Herr and Bruno asked whether you could find a nice Jew, Herr had said you'd be the best explorer ever. Maybe Anna is the exception…

"I don't understand…" I say slowly. "If you're Jewish why aren't you in the Ostland? Why weren't you deported?"

Anna's eyes widen "_Sehr_ _unwissendes_!" She snaps. _So_ i_gnorant. "_I was deported, but now I'm back again,"

"I don't understand…"

"You Nazis never do,"

The words sting and I don't know why. Surely being a Nazi is a good thing? I mean it means being a patriot, loyal to the Vaterland, and the Fuhrer… It means being a true German, doesn't it? My whole life has revolved around this principle. Yet now, looking at this girl, who has been stripped of her dignity, I don't know. The Nazis, us, me, Germany has done this and I don't understand why. I've never really seen a Jew up close before. In Berlin they were poor and dirty. In Auschwitz Pavel was miserable and dirty… and who made them like that? They weren't always like that, a rational part of my brain argues. The Nazis, father, us, Germany made them like that. I'm thinking of Auschwitz, of the suffering I knew existed but never saw. I'm thinking of Lieutenant Kotler, and his violent outbursts, the way he looked at Pavel… like he was nothing but a measly worm, or even less than that…

I'm thinking of the striped pyjamas, as I have so often in recent times. I know they're not pyjamas, but that's how Bruno described them, and it's stuck in my mind. They haunt me now, though, covering the feeble body of the girl in front of me. So close I could touch them. I always used to think Bruno was naïve, innocent. Once when we walked past a group of Jews in Berlin, he must have been about eight, and he pointed at them and said (I remember his exact words, clear as anything) "Those people are so sad, mightn't we cheer them up? They look hungry as well…" I'd told him straight, of course, that they were Jews, Untermenschen (a word I'd only recently learnt) and that they deserved everything that came to them and more, that they had ruined Germany, that they were greedy ….. and Bruno had looked at me with a frown and said they were no different to him, and probably less of a Hopeless Case than me. Maybe Bruno wasn't so innocent… maybe he was just human.

All this processing whirring in my brain leads me to a final conclusion. I speak the words as they file orderly into my brain, the memory of my little brother hanging heavily over each one.

"I'm not a Nazi, and I don't want to be,"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"I'm not a Nazi and I don't want to be,"

The words are ringing in my ears as I stare through the fence at this strange girl. A girl who has not fled from this deathly place as I would. A girl who has just expressed a wish not to be a Nazi. Foolish of her. Once I even heard Mutti say she wished we were like the others. Not Jewish is what she meant.

From the moment those words escape her lips the tension between us disappears. I cannot help but believe she is genuine. Hard-core Nazis do not deny what they are, they celebrate it. And more than anything in this place, I need an escape; I need to pretend I am somewhere else; I need to talk to someone who isn't on the brink of death, who isn't like me. That is vital. Except I don't really get an escape because we end up sitting crossed-legged in the dirt on either side of the fence, telling our life stories. I am listening as she tells me about her about father and mother and grandfather and grandmother and Herr Liszt and Kurt Kotler and especially her little brother, Bruno. This strikes a chord with me. She's not the only girl to have lost a brother. But I can't help but think who her father is, and what he has done. She should be my enemy, yet through the mere coincidence of having lost a brother I do not hate her and she does not hate me.

"Your turn," she says when she's finished.

I am about to say something when I hear a shout and I freeze. I'm not supposed to be over here. I feel the fear rise up inside, a familiar feeling to which I am accustomed, but not one that I relish. I jump up suddenly and scurry backwards, to Gretel's surprise, mumble some excuse and tell her to scarper before someone sees.

"Be here tomorrow!" She calls but I pretend not to hear. Because then I am running, almost tripping over my own feet, to be with the others, so I am not noticed, so I do not stand out. Because in this place to be noticed is a death sentence. This may be hell but I have not given up on life. Not yet anyway.

It's dangerous and don't I know it, but the next day I return to that same spot along the fence just as Gretel told me to. Except she's not there. I look around, suddenly desperate that I didn't imagine our whole conversation. I'm not going mad am I? Sanity is perhaps the one thing they have not taken from me and it's something I'd like to cling on to. My eyes bore into the green undergrowth and I'm half hoping she is going to jump out. She doesn't and I figure there's no point waiting, it's too dangerous. I turn around, and breathe out slowly; forcing myself to place one weak leg in front of the other when in reality I don't want to go anywhere. My mind is drifting; for some unknown reason the ache of hunger that constantly pains my stomach is more prominent at the moment. If meeting that girl was real yesterday, why in god's name didn't I ask for food? I guess it was too much of a surprise. I'm dawdling when a sudden shout attracts my attention. For a moment I think it is one of them and I brace myself, automatically, before I realise it comes from behind me.

She's there. Gretel. That strange girl with the dark blonde locks and pale blue eyes, who by rights should be polishing the buttons on her Hitler Youth uniform or something of that nature. Except she's here, waiting by the fence, for me.

"You're here?" she says cautiously. "Anna?"

At first I think she is being cautious, and then it hits me that she isn't sure whether I am the same person as yesterday; she can't recognise me. That hurts, that it is hard to distinguish us, but then again that is exactly what they want. I nod, suppressing the ghost of my emotions, something I have become accustomed to. It is vital that aside from not being noticed, you do not react; you do not show fear.

Like yesterday we sit on the floor; her on a grassy bank and myself on the dry earth that my bare toes brush against every day.

"Do you have food?" The words tumble out my mouth before I can stop them and I'm afraid for a moment that she's going to walk away at my rudeness. But she doesn't, instead she reaches into the small satchel she carries and brings out a small roll. The fence hums with that deadly current and I blurt out a warning as her unsteady hand passes the roll through the fence. Thankfully nothing happens and I grab the roll eagerly, taking a large mouthful before I remember to savour the taste and save some for later. It's still warm after coming out the oven. I can't remember the last time I tasted something so delicious.

"Thank you," I murmur. There's a pause and I realise Gretel is looking at me expectantly. I suddenly realise I know why.

"Now," She says and I can predict her next sentence easily. "I want to hear your story,"

I almost object, but then I realise that I want to tell her my story, I want somebody to hear, even though it doesn't feel like much of a story. So I begin. I haven't been speaking to her for very long, but the words stream easily out my mouth; my entire life laid out for this stranger to pick at and prod. Of course she doesn't; her face creases and frowns and she nods and murmurs and the weird thing is she is actually listening. Listening, as tell her my name is, or was, Anna Maria Goldstein and that I was born in Berlin on 24th June 1931, making me exactly 1 month older than her.

She is listening as I tell her about life in Berlin when I was little. I cannot not remember a time when I wasn't called "Jew girl" but most of the anti-Semitism passed right over my head. Despite everything, my early years are filled with somewhat fond memories; Mutti, Papi, Freddy, Will and I playing in the park…

"Freddy and Will?" Gretel says suddenly. "Are they your brothers?"

I glance up and stop inspecting the dirt. "Yes," I murmur. I keep wishing they were here now. Especially Will. Three years older than me he is. Was, I mean. But I push him to the back of my mind. Just like Gretel, thinking of my innocent brother always makes me want to cry. Not that I can cry at all anymore. I just get angry instead. It seems to be the only emotion I am capable of in this place.

But I continue with my story anyway, thinking that if just one person knows what happened then perhaps my life won't have been so pointless and that if something happens tomorrow at least someone will know my story and remember me.

Gretel is listening as I tell her how Freddy, one year my junior, climbed a tree in the park and got stuck on his sixth birthday and Papi had to climb up after him to fetch him down like a little cat. It was only a few months later in the November of that year that at the tender age of eight I first got a taste of what was to come. The night of the 9th November. I remember the noise, and the orange light creeping round the curtains as if the flames that engulfed the synagogue opposite were lapping at the window. They broke into the house that night, the Storm troopers, Wrecked the shop below, stole god knows what and had the whole family standing in the front room, up and dressed and terrified as they smashed our belongings in front of us. That was Kristallnacht. Mutti and Papi tried to get Visas to leave the country after that, but war was declared before they got the chance and we were stuck, trapped in Germany when the war began. It is easy now, in hindsight, to say that in the first year or so of war we weren't that badly off. Of course at the time it was simply awful and by god did we resent it. But Papi was always an optimist, always thought things couldn't get any worse, so we always thought we had something to complain about. Not publically of course, we weren't that stupid, but we weren't allowed to go to school and that always left plenty of time for moaning.

Gretel is listening as I tell her of the first deportations in the October of 1941. I know some people went into hiding, but it happened so quickly and Papi, ever the optimist, almost believed the propaganda. "Relocation in the east" whoever heard of something so ridiculous? We'd heard the rumours but we never believed them. Things always got exaggerated by word of mouth, Papi said, and we were foolish to listen to such things. They were just scare mongering, said Mutti. She always backed up Papi. But we were all fools, of course, to think it couldn't get any worse. The rumours were true. In fact just this once, the rumours weren't even an exaggeration of the truth. The truth, as it turned out, was quite a bit worse.

Gretel is listening as I try to tell her about the train journey. God, I can barely begin to describe the train journey. Actually it wasn't a train journey; it was a cattle car journey. I had to lift Freddy up onto the carriage. He was a month shy of his tenth birthday, and despite being only a year and a bit younger, was small for his age and quite a bit shorter than me. He disappeared into the carriage and I couldn't see anybody and I thought I was going to be crushed by the mass of people behind me. I was so scared. I cannot tell you how scared I was. I was crying. And then hands were pulling me up, hands were digging into my underarms and I was falling forwards and suddenly Will was holding me and hugging me and Papi and Mutti and Freddy were there. Mutti said we were lucky because the five of us were still together, but I could see her faith crumbling. Even Papi was silent amidst the screams as the doors slammed shut. I could see it in his eyes, somehow he just _knew_. I didn't know what, or how, but he _knew_. We spent probably 10 hours on the train. I don't know; it felt much longer. We couldn't sit down and we barely had any food. There was a bucket in the corner for a toilet. I couldn't bring myself to use it, even though I was bursting by the time we arrived.

Gretel is listening as I tell her about how we were lucky that we were one of the first trains to arrive in Lodz, or Litzmannstadt as it had been renamed. The ghetto wasn't big enough for the new arrivals from Berlin and we had no idea at first that they'd shot a load of innocent people at our expense. It wouldn't be long until they figured it would be more sensible to shoot those on the trains. Like I said; we were lucky. My best friend Heidi would have ended up on a later train, yet she never arrived in Lodz, I'm not stupid; I know why. We weren't lucky however in several other areas. The vast majority of the ghetto spoke Polish or Yiddish. We spoke German. You can see the problems there. But we managed, somehow, just about. We faded, we grew thinner, but we managed. Even that though wasn't enough. Freddy was always struggling; always needed more food. He had a better grasp of Yiddish than any of us, I think a friend of his had Polish Jewish ancestry, and he often joined the Polish children in climbing through the sewers to the other side and bartering for food. But even this wasn't enough; he was always the most ill, he always made us eat the food before him. That was Freddy; always so generous. But it was for reason that during our first selection in the ghetto, they picked Freddy. Little, innocent, naïve Freddy. Of course Will tried to stop them. Will always tried to protect us, even though Papi said that was his job. Papi always said you shouldn't stand up to them, you should just keep your head down and try to survive even if they made you do the most humiliating tasks like scrubbing the streets with a toothbrush. Will was never any good at following instructions. But they never liked people standing up to them. Like so many before him Will fell victim to a soldier's bullet. I almost fell apart after that. Everything just seemed so pointless. But then Papi took me aside and made me promise I was going to fight. I couldn't say no; not to Papi. But we only survived a few more selections before they eventually picked on us.

Gretel is listening as I tell her about the camps. First Auschwitz, then here. I tell her everything, absolutely everything. Getting separated when we first arrived. Freddy was already ill; he got sent to the left when the rest of us got sent to the right. It was only later that I learnt what that meant. But then Papi was separated from us too and it was just me and Mutti and…. They took everything then. Even down to our identities, our hair. Everything just got taken away. I lost track of the days; they just drifted past and I got thinner and thinner and dirtier and dirtier. I had no idea about the war, until that is, they started moving us to different camps. That's how I ended up here. Back in Germany; what should have been back home. Except it wasn't, not for me. I have lost all feeling of being German. It was yesterday when it happened, when it felt like we had been here forever and I went to wake Mutti up at dawn like always. She'd been having coughing fits at the beginning of week, but I hadn't thought anything of it; we were all coughing. But yesterday morning she wasn't coughing when I tried to wake her. But yesterday morning, she didn't wake up…

That's why I drifted over to the fence when I should have been working. I just wanted to get away. To escape. Not in the way you probably think, I never considered actually escaping from here. What would I do? Where would I go? But I came so close to touching the fence. I could never quite bring myself to do it but I came close. Instead I just stared at the trees beyond, and at the sky and the clouds above, wishing, wishing so much that I was just like them; nonchalant, and drifting peacefully without a care in the world. Unnoticed, untouched... and then I saw a girl dawdling along the fence, curiosity burning in her eyes. Seeing her, that's when I realised I couldn't give up. Like what Papi said to me, so long ago now; "If anything happens to me, _meine Kinde_, you mustn't give up. You must fight, promise me this," I had promised hadn't I? I will not give up; I have a promise to keep.

I look up, finally and my eyes bore in Gretel's. Her face is white, her mouth hanging open in silent horror. A solitary tear slips gracefully down her cheek.

"Is it really that bad?" She says hoarsely, glancing at the distant huts behind me. I nod, no point disguising the truth. She mouth moves silently before she repeats the words in a louder voice. "I'm sorry,"

"It's not your fault," I say wearily.

"Vater…." She moans and it occurs to me that I am speaking to the daughter of Commandant of Auschwitz. No wonder she looks so shell-shocked.

"If you stay there, you will die?" She says in the same small voice.

I don't want to answer that. Indeed, I probably shall but my own determination to survive refuses to accept that. I live for the second and never ever think about tomorrow. So I merely shrug in response and this she understands.

"You said you had nowhere to go if you escaped? No one to help you."

I nod; my tired brain not seeing the obvious. I can't envisage where this conversation is going; my face merely creases into a frown. "_Was?_" I murmur. _What?_

"Vater was wrong," Gretel says. "Wrong about everything. Germany is not about this; Bruno knew that. I have to do something, something to make it right, anything. _Verstehst du das_?"

_Do you understand that?_ Her words echo in my head as it hits me. The reality of what she is saying. I barely register the true meaning of these words before Gretel says something that I am sure she will regret.

"You have someone now. Someone on the outside. Someone who can help you." Her face hardens as she looks me straight in the eye. "Me."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Me."

I can't quite believe what I have just said. The words take me by surprise as much as they startle Anna. I cannot help her! I don't agree with the suffering, I sympathise with her, of course. But people get arrested if they help Jews. People get shot! People _die_. And there is simply no chance of me getting away with it; where would she go? She can hardly hide in our cellar, can she? I may not be totally brainwashed and Mutter may be slightly disillusioned with the whole business but there is no doubting Tante Hildegard's loyalty to the Reich. I think she sleeps with her Bronze Mother's Cross. It got given to her after she had her fourth child, she's got four boys with just a year in between each. They, my cousins, are all off fighting now; the youngest, Matthias is 17 but has already begun his training. I don't know them that well; it's Mutter's side of the family and we haven't had much contact these past few years. Still, I have some fond memories of a couple of Pre-war holidays to Lower Saxony and I think I will be devastated should one of them fall. It is weird. To feel close to someone who, god forbid, has been sent to kill people like the girl in front of me. Anna has not spoken. There is a silence. I am filled with horror at the prospect of risking my life, but now that I have offered to help, I can hardly withdraw the offer. But god knows what I can do. How is she even going to cross the fence? My fingers scrap the dirt in front of me. It's loose; cracking in the sun's heat. A sudden thought occurs to me.

"I know!" I gasp suddenly, startling Anna. She frowns but remains silent. "I will get my hands on a shovel or two, and we can dig under the fence!" I say triumphantly. "Deep enough so you won't get electrocuted, although I hope you don't mind crawling through the dirt." I look at the state of her and realise this is a stupid thing to say.

Unfortunately she doesn't look impressed.

"There is no chance of me getting away with that," Anna says scathingly. "Someone will notice."

"Not if we dig a little at a time," I say, trying not to sound hurt. I'm trying to help aren't I? "You've been meeting me here haven't you?"

"_Ach_, not for long," She says dismissively, and then glances wearily over her shoulder. I get the feeling it's almost time for her to go. Her words echo my thoughts as she stands up to leave.

"Come here tomorrow, I have school so I'll be here later." I say desperately, following suite. "I promise I'll get you out."

She shrugs and it's as if I can physically see the hope fading. My fear of helping her has vanished; I don't know why. But the fact she has no faith in me hurts and I know I have to prove that I can do something right. She mumbles "_Auf Wiedersehen_." before walking off into the distance. A lonely figure surrounded by grey. I'm suddenly very aware how lucky I am. Simply by the mishap of being born to what are considered "German" parents I have not suffered as she has.

I make my way back to the house, a heavy shadow of responsibility hanging over me. I walked to the fence today and now I regret it, my legs are aching and it takes much longer.

Mutter frowns at me when I arrive home. "Where have you been disappearing off to yesterday and today?" She demands testily. She sounds annoyed but I sense worry in her voice. She's lost one child, I guess it's only natural she should be over protective. Even if I am 14 years old.

"I told you," I reply, trying to sound truthful. "Wandering. In the woods."

"Wouldn't you rather make some friends and play in the village?"

"Play in the village?" I demand, anger rising up inside of me. "I'm 14! Besides I expect I'll have plenty of time for making friends the day after tomorrow when I have to go to that stupid school!"

Mutter looks shocked and I feel appalled at myself. Still, I'm not about to apologise so I storm away and slam the door to the bedroom. Not my bedroom; it can never be my bedroom. My bedroom is in Berlin; this is my absent cousin's bedroom. There's still books on the chest of drawers; boys books of course. If I remember correctly both Matthias and Frederick (the older brother who shared this room) were avid readers. I feel hot angry tears roll down my cheek. Why am I crying? Maybe it's because of Anna's life story that still runs through my brain, maybe it's because I want, more than anything for the war to finish and to go home to Berlin… Maybe it is because I'm fed up with Mutter drifting through life, thinking of no one but herself. Or maybe I'm just feeling sorry for myself, when, really, I have no right to.

_Deneken von Anna, _I tell myself, _Think of Anna._

A renewed sense of purpose fills me. I have a promise to keep, after all. So I compose myself and with an apology and a question on the tip of my tongue, I make my way downstairs.

"Mutter?" I say hesitantly as I approach the front room. Mutter is sitting there with Tante Hildegard, talking in lowered voices. She looks up hungrily as I approach, as if she cannot stand me being angry at her for even a moment. I mumble an apology about earlier. Tante Hildegard looks puzzled but doesn't push the issue. I don't want to ask the question in front of her, but then again I hardly have a choice.

"I don't suppose you have a shovel, do you?" I ask hesitantly.

"_Sorry_?" Mutter looks bemused. "Why on earth do you want a shovel?"

"Er…" I haven't thought this far ahead. "For the Jungmadel… we're er… I don't know!" It is the most pathetic excuse ever but for some reason neither Mutter nor Tante Hildegard question it. Unfortunately their answer isn't what I was hoping for.

"Why would we have a shovel?" Tante Hildegard says shortly.

There goes that idea. I feel deflated, it's like my whole plan has literally just crumbled. The bedroom feels even less friendly than it did five minutes ago. A satchel rests at the end of my bed as a harsh reminder that tomorrow I will be plunged back into the school environment. Tomorrow comes far too quickly.

I'm stuck in the middle of a mass of people I don't know. Mutter has gone and all I have is a scrap of paper with a classroom number written on it. This is school is it? I'm not scared, exactly, but I'm far outside my comfort zone. I hate being new, not knowing anyone. You know when you think everybody's looking at you? That's how I feel now, walking self-consciously around the school. It's not like the school's that small but I still get the feeling that they all know I'm knew; they're all looking at me with suspicion. I try and avoid looking at them; instead I concentrate on the floor. Unfortunately this has disadvantages.

"_Ach_!" I yelp as I walk straight into a boy walking the other way. At least, I assume he's walking the other way. I didn't actually see him; but he's facing me which leads me to the assumption. "Sorry," I stammer, turning bright red. I hate that fact I flush so easily. Against my better judgement I glance up and get my first proper look at the boy who I have just walked into. He's about my age, I guess, with very dark hair that's almost black and not very German. His hair isn't cut particularly short either; a side fringe dangles dangerously close to one eyebrow and I'm surprised he hasn't been told to get it cut. It's a subtle sign of rebellion, not too obvious, but a sign enough that this boy isn't totally buying the propaganda. His mouth is turned up at the corners, smiling, laughing at me, but not in a horrid way.

"Don't worry about it," he laughs, before studying me intently with clear blue eyes, a shade darker than my own and without the irritating sunflowers around the iris. "Are you new?"

I flush. Again. "Is it that obvious?" I snap.

"You just look a little lost. Which class are you in?"

I hand him my scrap of paper. "Same as me!" He grins. "Come on, I'll show you the way,"

He disappears up the corridor before I can say anything and I just stand there, feeling and looking a bit bemused as a stream of people part around me. A moment later the boy is back again.

"I'm Rudy, by the way, Rudy Biermann," He says breathlessly. "Well Rudolph, actually, but no one calls me that, not even Herr Meister," Finally he pauses and grins again. Does this boy ever stop grinning? I wish he'd stop being so energetic, this is the first day back at school after all. In fact, more than that; he really is starting to irritate me.

"What's your name?" Rudy says finally as if this is what he was meaning to say all along and has only just managed to speak the words.

I hesitate for a moment before speaking with a frown on my face. "Gretel Schmidt."

"Well, Fräulein Schmidt, perhaps you'd allow me to escort you to class,"

His mock politeness makes me frown harder, but he either doesn't notice or ignores it before prancing off down the corridor. I follow him, knowing full well that this is the only way I will reach the classroom. Never the less I stay a few yards behind, just in case anyone gets the wrong impression and thinks I know this irritating, chirpy little boy called Rudolph Biermann.

I hesitate as we enter the classroom. There's so many strange people filing to their seats; even Rudy winks and disappears off. I'm still standing at the front when everyone else is sitting down, looking dumfounded as the teacher walks in.

He looks old with a face drowned in wrinkles. A silver moustache bristles as he speaks. From experience the two features never belong to an endearing teacher. In fact, I don't think I have ever come across an endearing teacher.

"Well?" He demands. "Are you going to find a seat or not?"

I blink. "Er…"

"That's Gretel, Herr Meister," says a voice. I could've guessed who. "She's new," Rudy adds and I blush for a third time.

"Ah, yes," says Herr Meister and then he laughs. "For god's sake girl, find a seat and stop looking so terrified!"

The class laugh. I don't understand… I have never come across a teacher as good-natured as to joke and laugh such as this strange man before me. His face creases as he smiles and it's only then I work out that his wrinkles are, if anything, laughter lines. I glance around for a spare seat. There has to be another seat. Dear god, please let there be another seat. But there's not. The only spare seat in the whole room is the one next to Rudy Biermann. He raises his eyebrows as I approach so I scowl at him and then stare straight ahead. There is no way I am going to talk to him now.

"Are you going to ignore me now, dumkopf?" He snorts.

"Shut up, Rudolph," I snap, which just makes him grin even more.

The day passes in somewhat of a blur; no different to school in Berlin, except here I have no friends and am forced to sit next to the most irritating boy in history. I'm distracted all day with thoughts of Anna and how I have failed to get my hands on a shovel. Not a great first impression on the teachers; I barely listen in any of the lessons. It's only at the very end of the day that a sudden thought occurs to me and I go against my better judgement.

"Rudy?" I murmur as we pack our books away. It's the first time I've actually used his name. His eyes widen in surprise and this time he smiles, not grins stupidly but just smiles. Nicely.

"Yes?"

"I don't suppose you have a shovel, do you?"

"Shovel?" He laughs but I'm relieved when he doesn't ask why I need one. "Of course, I can bring on in tomorrow,"

"I need it tonight," I say hopefully.

"I live in Bollersen, so a bit far out," Rudy says and my mouth drops open.

"That's where I'm staying!" I gasp.

"Oh," Rudy says. "Well in that case, follow me," and like an idiot I do. When we reach Bollersen I wait outside his house and he appears five minutes later clutching two worn out shovels.

"Here you go,"

"_Danke_!" I say and reward him with a first smile. It's not on purpose; the smile just slips out. I still haven't forgiven him for being annoying, but I have to admit it's awfully nice of him to lend me not one but two shovels, without even a second thought.

I wave goodbye to this strange boy but it's only when I get home and see my Jungmadel uniform laid out on my bed that I remember where I'm supposed to be this evening.

"Ah," The realisation hits me. Hard. What am I supposed to do now? I can't not meet Anna. On the other hand, it is sort of illegal not to go the Jungmadel meeting. It is also illegal to break a Jew out a concentration camp, I counter argue in my head.

I'm supposed to be at the Jungmadel meeting. That's all I can think as I hurry through the wood. That's where I told Mutter I was going. I'll get into trouble about missing the Jungmadel meeting but Anna _is_ more important, isn't she? Besides, I have two shovels now; no harm in making a start on the dig. I half run to the fence, hoping Anna hasn't forgotten that I said to meet later. But she's there; looking worried, admittedly and on the verge of leaving, but still there.

"Hallo," I say breathlessly as I approach. She glances at me and returns the greeting. I go to say something. Then I stop. Something's different. Something's wrong.

There's no hum. That's what it is, has Anna not noticed? No electricity. Without thinking, and ignoring Anna's cries of protest, I test my theory and sure enough my fingers touch cold metal and my brain lives to tell the tale.

"It's now or never." I say in a heavy voice. I pass the spare shovel through the fence before I collapse onto the ground and start tearing away at the hard earth. Anna stares at me, utterly bemused.

"Well," I snap, irritably, pointing at the shovel next to her feet. "Aren't you going to help me?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Aren't you going to help me?"

I just stare at her, suddenly consumed with a fear of the unknown. But like me she has noticed that the fence has lost its hum of electricity and she's right in that this is the chance we weren't expecting. I also know that staying here will be the death of me. But still… what if someone sees? After all this time the last thing I want is to die looking down the barrel of a soldier's gun. And Mutti? In my heart I know she'd want me to go. No one could be stupid enough to miss this opportunity, not even me. It doesn't stop me being scared though. Then again, fear is constant; I can't let it hold me back now. So gingerly I lower myself to the floor and run my fragile hand over the rough wooden handle, before grasping it tightly and plunging it towards the hardened soil. Gretel supresses a smile and follows suit. I ponder whether I should try to make conversation but in all honesty I think they are unnecessary. At first we seem to be making good progress, but before long I come to the conclusion that it will take quite some time to dig enough for me to get under, even if I can touch the fence. The best thing would be to have wire cutters. Gretel seems to have reached the same conclusion.

She frowns. "This is taking far too long," She mutters. "If only we had wire cutters,"

There is no way I'm giving up now though. I wonder….. Could we break the wire using the shovel? I attempt this hopeless venture and realise quickly the answer is indeed no. Maybe digging out is the only way… unless… my hand reaches out and touches the bottom of the fence. I press the edge of the shovel into the earth and use it as a lever to expose the bottom of the metal next to the post. This is looking a bit more hopeful. Teamwork speeds up the process of tearing the fence from the hard ground so it can be pulled upwards just enough for someone to crawl under. Someone like me.

"Can you fit under that?" Gretel asks, biting her lip nervously. I can't believe she's as nervous as I am. But I've learnt not to let my emotions show, not even at times like this.

I nod, determined. I haven't felt this determined for quite a long time. I let a slip of emotion show through what I suppose is now my gaunt face; a nervous, yet grateful smile. Gretel nods; her expression reflecting my own. Taking a deep breath, I lay down on my front and let my fingers stroke the cool metal; as if I am reassuring myself that it is no longer electrified. I take another deep breath. And that's when I hear the shout.

Of a guard, a soldier. Not in the distance, closer than that. I hear footsteps pounding, panic seizing me. Foolishly I crane my neck to glance behind me and I see the blonde-haired blue-eyed monster bounding in my direction.

"_Halt! Comen Sie hier!_"

_Oh god, no, please don't let this be happening. I don't want to die like this, god help me...I don't want to die at all… oh no…oh no, oh no, oh no…_

"Come on!" Gretel hisses, breaking me from my thoughts and my silent despair and paralysing fear.

I scramble across the hard earth awkwardly, pushing myself under the fence. A sharp metal end catches my neck but I stifle a scream, until the first bullet hits the ground a yard to my right. I just keep shuffling my weight forwards, commando style, as machine gun fire echoes in my direction and the guard gets closer and closer. Gretel shrieks and disappears behind a grass verge. Grass… my fingers grapple at the alien green stuff and I finally pull myself out from under the fence, toppling over the grass verge. For a moment I just sit there, staring at Gretel, who is wide eyed and terrified, not quite believing what has just happened.

My moment peace is interrupted however by a shadow that blocks the sun in a single terrifying moment. I glance up, barely daring to breathe, and make eye contact with this man… except he is hardly a man. To be a man, implies to be human. He is but a robot. Not light behind his empty ice-blue eyes. I scramble backwards, but he doesn't react. He's staring at Gretel and an expression forms on his face. I don't think I have ever seen any expression on a guard's face other than anger or contempt. Now though, I see a look of surprise. His arms fall helplessly to his sides, leaving the machine gun to crash to the ground.

Gretel seems to be wearing the same expression. She stutters two words that don't make much sense to me, but I can't fail to recognise their importance.

"Kurt Kotler," Gretel splutters.

_How does she know his name?_

"Gretel Schmidt,"

_And how in god's name does he know hers?_

"What are you doing?" I sense anger in his voice, back to normal then. She's lost for words. I certainly can't blame her. There's a dangerous quality to the guard – Kurt Kotler's – voice.

"I'm ….. I….-"

"-helping Jews." Kotler finishes her sentence for her. "The daughter of a _Kommandant_… helping _Jews_," Disgust lines his voice as he reaches for his gun.

Then it clicks. Kurt Kotler: the Lieutenant at Auschwitz, whom Gretel had taken a fancy to in her youth. I remember her telling me of his violent outbursts and start edging backwards; hoping that the shelter of the trees isn't too far behind me.

But Kotler notices my movement. The gun, cocked and ready, is swung in my direction. The man's fingers resting on the trigger… all it takes is one nudge and it will all be over for me.

"_Nein!_ Kurt, stop, please!" Gretel shrieks. "It's a mess, everything! This isn't right! You realise that, don't you? We've all been lied to-"

Gretel's attempt to appeal to his better nature isn't going to work. I know that. She obviously doesn't.

"You're the one who's been lied to," The gun swivels towards Gretel. "How could someone trust the words of a Jew over the words of our Fuhrer? I despise traitors."

"You wouldn't…" Gretel stutters, still sitting on the floor in a state of shock.

I use the moment of hesitation as an opportunity; forcing myself to stand and scurry backwards to the safety of the trees.

I just have time to shout "Gretel!" before Kotler opens fire and I throw myself on the floor, clutching my head, waiting for the bombardment to end. It stops a moment later. I don't move. I feel… nothing. _Is Gretel dead? She cannot be dead… She mustn't be dead._

"Anna!" gasps a relieved voice to my right. Tension leaves me immediately.

"Thank god you're alright." I say, turning to face Gretel. She's filthy, covered in dirt with a couple of scratches and a distant expression on her face. "I can't believe Kurt tried to shoot me!" She stutters.

"He's a Nazi," I snap in hushed reply. "Get used to it."

Shouts sound in the distance: it's time to go. I take Gretel's hand and together and two of us race through the trees. The rough ground hurts my feet but I am immune to such insignificant pain. I'm surprised at how fast and quickly I am able to run… but then I suppose this is what comes by living off just adrenaline. Ten minutes later we come to a halt, having passed through the trees and out into open country. We rest next to a small pond.

"Would you like some food?" Gretel says, breathing heavily but seeming to have calmed down. I nod eagerly as she brings some of that wonderful bread out her satchel. I am so busy munching on the food that I don't notice the other items that Gretel has placed before me. My mouth drops open.

"I hope they're alright." Gretel says, biting her lip nervously and she presents a blouse, skirt, socks, shoes and even a scarf to cover my head, before me.

"Perfect," I say, gratitude spilling into my voice. "Absolutely perfect,"

I use water from the pond to wash myself as much as possible and quickly change into the clothes. To wear real clothes… seems surreal, almost alien. Wonderfully, wonderfully surreal and alien. More than anything it makes me feel like a person again.

Feeling much less conspicuous I follow Gretel in the direction of the village where she is staying. We haven't much of a plan but I feel so delirious with freedom right now that I fail to care. Luckily the Bollersen seems for the most part deserted, at least the bits of it I see (right on the outskirts) are. Gretel leads me to her aunt's house. There's a path around the side, leading to the backyard and Gretel tells me to wait, or rather hide, here as she goes in.

"I'll come back for you later." She explains. "I promise."

I nod and smile. "Thank you, thank you so much,"

"Oh the pleasure's all mine." She laughs and gives me a little wave. I can't help but think how nice it is to have a friend like her.

From my hiding place I watch Gretel approach the front door and hammer a fist on the wood. Her aunt opens it and Gretel is obviously surprised at the stern expression on the older woman's face.

"Nice of you to join us," Gretel's Tante Hildegard snaps. "We've just been informed that you missed your Jungmadel meeting. Care to tell your mother and I where you've been?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Care to tell your mother and I where you've been?"

I gulp at my aunt's words as I am ushered inside and into the front room. Until this moment I had totally forgotten I was supposed to be at the Jungmadel meeting. Understandable really…. I've just been shot at! Nobody's ever shot at me before. Anna took it all in her stride and I had to put on a brave face and even fake a smile and act like I was okay…_Okay? Someone- not even someone! Kurt Kotler, for god's sake! - shot at me and tried to kill me!_

"Well?"

I blink as Mutter steps into view and I am jolted back to the present.

"I…I…" I try to come up with a reasonable excuse but my mind is blank. I can't think; my mind keeps jumping back to that moment. Absolute terror, bullets flying everywhere, and my pathetic attempt to cover my head as I dived for the undergrowth.

"Gretel?" Mutter's voice is suddenly concerned. "Gretel – why are you shaking?"

I glance down at my hands, which hang limply at my sides. I hadn't noticed before now, but as Mutter says, they are shaking. In fact, I am suddenly aware that I am shaking all over.

"Are you alright, darling? Are you ill?" Any authority in Mutter's voice is gone. For once her over protective nature is working in my favour.

Somehow managing to compose myself, without showing it outwardly, and I nod. "I was on my way…" I stutter. "But I felt so dizzy and ill all of a sudden. I'm sorry… I think I must have passed out because I woke up sometime later and I simply couldn't face it… not with all those unfamiliar faces."

Despite my current state, I am impressed with myself. Tante Hildegard doesn't look totally convinced but Mutter is at my side in an instant, placing a freezing hand at my forehead and pronouncing me ill. She goes into another rant, admittedly sympathetic, as to how hard it must be to move around so much and make friends and go to a new Jungmadel group without knowing anyone. It's funny… but I used to love going to the Jungmadel in Berlin but I hate it here. I mean, I know I shouldn't have formed an opinion… If I hadn't skipped it today it would only have been my fourth time since we moved to Bollersen. But the girls seem so shallow and haughty and talk of nothing of any interest. But for once in her life Mutter understands something of being a child and I am able to pretend that this, along with being ill, is reason enough for me missing one Jungmadel lesson. Besides, I won't be at the Jungmadel much longer anyway, I'm 14 now and it won't be long until they realise this I join the BDM.

Mutter leads me upstairs and in a show of motherly affection tucks me into bed, even though it is clearly far too early to be even thinking of such things.

"I'm fine!" I protest but she's having none of it.

"The only way to get better is to rest." Mutter says firmly. I fall back onto the pillow, defeated, but knowing that it's pointless to argue further. "Your aunt and I were going to go to the theatre tonight," Mutter continues. "But I can stay in if you want,"

"No!" I snap, my words coming out harsher than I meant them to. But if the two of them go out then I will be home alone and smuggling Anna inside will be much easier. Anna. I hadn't thought of her until now, and it doesn't feel like long since I left her, but I know it always feels longer when you're waiting. She certainly won't want to be waiting all evening. Mutter is still looking at me, hurt etched on her face. I feel bad, all of a sudden, because she is trying so hard. So I use a softer tone. "You need a break, Mutter, I don't want you fussing around me. Go and enjoy yourself."

She relaxes, thinking she understands my intent, and kisses me on my forehead.

"Thank you, darling. I'll bring you up some dinner before we go, if you're hungry…"

I nod vigorously. I'm not really hungry, but I expect Anna will be. "Thank you, Mutti,"

At that Mutter smiles broadly. I haven't called her Mutti in quite a time and I know that the use of such a term will endear me to her. It feels as if I am manipulating my own mother, but if God sees fit to give you an advantage, you should grasp it, shouldn't you? I try to convince myself of this, but I'm not fooling myself.

Soon enough a sweet smell fills my nostrils and not much later Mutter appears in the doorway, try in hand. It's not the most exciting meal, but considering the rationing, it's quite impressive. Mutter sets it down on my lap and bids a good night, as does Tante Hildegard.

"We'll be three hours," Mutter says, before disappearing out the room.

I hear shuffling in the hallway downstairs, a final "_Auf Wiedersehen_!" before the door slams shut. I sit there for a moment more, before the reality of being alone hits me and I smile to myself. I set the food aside and pull myself out of bed. Of course I'm still dressed so there's no need to hesitate. But I do. My hand is still shaking. And at the back of my mind I can still hear the bullets shredding the ground next to me.

_Get a grip,_ I tell myself harshly, _Anna's survived much worse and she isn't being so silly. You have a job to do, Gretel. So get a grip._

With renewed composure I make my way downstairs and gently ease the front door open, peering out to check that Mutter and Tante Hildegard aren't still out there. Thankfully they're long gone. The pavement is cold and rough on my feet, covered only with my thin socks.

"Anna?" I call softly, hoping only Anna can hear.

There's no response. Maybe she hasn't heard me. That's the simple, obvious explanation. But I'm on edge and my panicked mind conjures up all sorts of terrifying, yet unrealistic alternatives. How long have I been gone? I didn't think to look at the time. But so much can happen in such a short space of time.

_She could've been picked up by the Gestapo, could've been shot, could've had to flee, could've _wanted_ to flee…_

Now I'm being stupid. If anything very bad had happened I would have heard the commotion, surely? So I'm being ridiculous, and just to prove it to myself I call out her name again, slightly louder this time. "Anna!"

This time she appears in front of me, biting her lip, unsure of what will happen next. The panic leaves me and I smile broadly.

"Come on in," I say, motioning towards the hallway. Anna follows me inside, like a sheep, but a lot thinner, and sadder, I think. She may put a brave face on everything, but really she's about the saddest person I've ever met, even sadder than me. But she has a right to be, after all she's been through, I think it's incredible she doesn't cry all the time.

I close the door behind us and Anna hesitates; her eyes drifting, down the hallway, up the stairs, through the open door to the front room.

"It's alright," I say, encouragingly. "Mutter and Tante Hildegard have to the theatre. It's just us."

Still Anna hesitates. "It's just… it's been so long since I've been in a house," She confesses.

I glance at the floor, suddenly embarrassed. There's so many things you take for granted, and having a house is definitely one of them.

"Well erm…" I pause. What to do now? Time isn't an issue, though there are certainly some logistics that need sorting. Where will she sleep, for instance? But for now, I think, food is the priority.

"Come upstairs," I say, leading her to my bedroom. I present my dinner to her and feel some triumph when her eyes widen with shock. "_Bon appetite_," I smile. "That's French for-"

"I know what _bon appetite_ means," Anna says, but not horribly, because a smile stretches across her gaunt face. In an instance she looks so much healthier. She dabs her finger in the gravy and lifts it to her tongue. "So good…" She murmurs, her eyes closed.

I lift up the tray to take it down stairs and she follows. I giggle, imagining her as a dog following a bone but when I jokingly say the analogy her expression changes. Hurt, but mostly anger.

"I'm not a damned animal!" She snaps. "Who are you to call me that? I thought you weren't one of them!"

I recoil, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. Anna remains at the top, scowling at me.

"I didn't mean it like that!" I protest. "Honestly, I just-!"

"I know," Anna cuts across me and sighs wearily. "I guess I'm a little touchy about things like that," She walks down a few steps, stopping half way.

"I don't suppose I can blame you, can I?" I say, smiling nervously.

"I'm sorry anyway. You're risking your life for me, the least I can do is not overreact when you say a joke." A hesitant smile creeps out the corners of her lips.

I smile back, confidently, but it is a mask. I wish she hadn't brought up the fact I'm risking my life, it makes me feel physically sick. It makes me feel a coward for feeling physically sick, as well. But as always, I put on a brave face, and pretend that everything is just fine. Really, it is what I am used to. This pretending; it is no different to when Grandma, Bruno and I would act out those silly plays when I was a child. Except they weren't silly, and I'd do anything to return to those carefree days. Anything to have Grandma and Bruno back with me.

_Fokus_, I tell myself, _Focus Gretel._

"Come on, then," I say, with renewed composure and Anna follows me into the kitchen, her larger than life eyes never failing to leave the food. I set it down on the table and grab a chair.

"_Bon appetite_," I say, again. We laugh, and then she looks serious.

"You mustn't let me eat quickly," Anna says forcefully. "I want to, but I mustn't. My body won't be able to cope. I must eat a little and slowly."

I glance down, embarrassed because that hadn't occurred to me. Her fragile hand reaches out and picks up a small potato. Only now does it occur to me just how thin she is; more skeletal than anything else. I secretly pledge to change that.

In the end she eats only half the dinner and even that takes her one long hour. Even that proves too much. She leans back in her hair, pats her stomach and a moment later lurches forward and scurries over to the sink just in time before she vomits. I can't help but feel repulsed and also put out because I'll have to clean it up. Luckily it's only gone in the sink, but the smell will be hard to explain. But before I can feel annoyed Anna looks at me pitifully with her big brown eyes. "I'm so sorry," She says so mournfully that it is impossible to be angry. I shrug. "It's fine,"

It only takes a moment to wash it down the sink, rub down the sides with soap and give the surface a wipe. There's a fraction of a smell, but I can't imagine anyone will notice. If they do, I'll just say it was me. Anna stands, by the table awkwardly, glancing at the time.

"Gretel," Anna says timidly. "Where is it that I will stay?"

"The cellar," I say apologetically. "Not the nicest of places, I know, but no one ever goes there so it's safe. You'll have to be quiet though. I don't think Tante Hildegard would be very impressed if she found you,"

I try to say it lightly, as if it is a joke. God, I really wish it was. But this isn't the time to dwell on the bad things so I grab some blankets from the bedroom before leading Anna down the rickety wooden stairs to the cellar. Even with a single bare bulb it's dark. It's freezing cold as well, covered in cobwebs, and, god forbid, spiders.

"I'm sorry," I say, trembling. "It's awfully cold and dirty, but…."

I stop when I realise her eyes are teary. "It's perfect," She whispers. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

I blush, embarrassed at how grateful she is, and force a timid smile. "This is what friends are for, isn't it?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi… so it's taken ages for me to write this due partly to my hectically busy life. This is the first time I've written one of those author-comments-that-are-not-part-of-the-story so be impressed. Anyway, thanks for the comments, people, it is much appreciated and make me feel very loved :P so feel free to make many more! Anyway enjoy, …. Well as much as you can enjoy a story based on the Boy in the Striped Pyjamas…**

**Chapter 6**

"This is what friends are for, isn't it?"

Friends. I've forgotten what it's like to have friends. Sure, I have acquaintances but when you're in hell you can't afford to have friends. Not when you know they're probably going to die. I feel emotional. How can I not? She called me a friend, and yet has no idea how much that means. I see in her face that she thinks this cellar in insufficient, yet it's a million times better to what I'm used to.

I smile broadly, genuinely, and it feels strange, my mouth aching at this long-lost concept. I look around the cellar, taking the scene in; it looks as if a bomb has exploded in an antiques shop, although I should think the many treasures down here are all worthless. There's a dilapidated, but none-the-less grand wardrobe, placed next to the door, and opposite that a giant pile of well, mess. There is little else to describe it; I can't even begin to comprehend what is making up this pile that comes to about waist height.

"What is this?" I blurt, waving a hand in the direction of the pile.

Gretel bit her lip. "I don't really know. I think it's rubbish that Tante Hildegard can't bear to part with, yet nor can she stand to look at it. I think… well I think it's things to do with her boys. My cousins, who off fighting in the war."

Oh, well that's awkward, to say the least. "Are they dead?" I murmur.

"Who? My cousins? No," Gretel cuts me an odd glance.

That's a relief; I don't have to feel like I'm living in a dead man's room, now. It'd be especially awkward if they were dead, because, quite obviously, I'm supporting the enemy that's been sent to kill them. Of course I don't mention any of this to Gretel. I'm not that heartless. I can't help but wonder what it is like to have family fighting on the wrong side of the war. In this war, at least you know; one side is bad and the other is good. At least, that's my opinion, although doubtless every German would disagree. It's funny, because technically I am German, but I don't feel any connection to the country besides speaking its language. I'm beginning to wonder whether I will ever have a nationality again.

Gretel stays with me until 10 minutes before her aunt and mother are due home and we spend the time talking about the most trivial, yet wildly amusing subjects. It feels so good to talk in such a trivial manner, it feels as if I am a totally normal girl again; a totally normal girl talking about totally normal things.

That night I pull the blankets around to form a make-shift bed and, despite the cold and damp, for the first time in too long I dream. I dream, not about the past, but about the future. Because now, I can allow myself to think of such things, maybe it is foolish, for my newfound security could disappear at any moment, but… _There's nothing wrong with dreaming, is there?_

The next morning I wake to the sound of rain. Torrential rain. Even in the depths of the cellar it seems impossibly loud, so when Gretel sneaks down and hands me a little bread for breakfast I can barely hear what she's saying. It's not until after everyone has left the house that I notice an increasingly large damp patch on the ceiling which manifests into a leak.

_Drip, drop, drip, drop… _over and over again. The floorboards at the far end become home to a miniature lake. The smell of dampness doesn't lighten the mood, either. I shouldn't complain, but it's a depressing atmosphere regardless of the way you look at it.

_Splat_. That's the first drop of rain water that's landed on me. I scamper away, pulling the blankets away with me and hesitantly glance upwards. There's another damp patch. Oh god, I can't stand this constant dripping! I scan the room, searching for anyway useful I could use a bucket…

_There must be something, please let there be something!_

I eye the pile of abandoned treasures at the other end of the room, and have a good rummage. It's all broken, and useless, I think until I stumble across a couple of… saucepans!

_Perfect_, I think. Admittedly they're rusty, and without handles, but they'll do the job well enough. I place the under the leaks, and that at least stops the entire room being flooded.

I lean back against the wardrobe, it's early afternoon, but I still feel tired, even though I've done virtually nothing for the whole day. Sometimes it works out that you feel the more tired the less you do, but I suspect it has more to do with malnutrition. I may be getting decent enough food now, but I'm still unnaturally skinning and I still feel fragile. I feel content though, despite the rain which continues to penetrate through the roof. There may be a damp feeling to the room, but it doesn't bother me because this is my room, at least it feels that way. Gretel is absolutely right in that nobody comes down here. For the first time in so many months I actually feel as if I have a home. Which is ironic as I'm hiding in the house of a woman who would certainly call the Gestapo is she found me.

I can feel myself drifting in the silence. I wonder, briefly, what time it is and when Gretel and her family will arrive home. That's when I will have to be very quiet. But until then, I do believe I can relax. When the first people arrive home I'm petrified, but I soon become accustomed to the footsteps and allow myself to relax again. They won't know I'm here as long as I stay quiet. I'm bored, but content, which is an odd combination.

A little later I'm suddenly alerted to the sound of footsteps trotting around upstairs, which shouldn't bother me, but they seem different, and the noise follows an odd pattern. The footsteps are heavier. And louder. And closer.

And then it hits me.

Someone is walking down the stairs to the cellar. It's not Gretel; I've come to recognise the sound of her feet gently padding down those uneven stairs.

Someone is going to find me.

This concept takes too long to sink in and I barely have time to dive into the abandoned wardrobe before the door opens and a breeze ripples through the air.

I stand, motionless, my hands clutching the indent in the wardrobe door to stop it swinging open. I curse the faulty catch as I press my eyes tightly shut, and pray to every God in every religion that I won't be noticed. God help me; my breathing seems impossibly loud, and I'm sure it'll be noticed in an instant.

The footsteps pad around; the floorboards creaking. Rustling reverberates throughout the room, and I wonder what it is that this intruder is fiddling with.

Then the thundering of more footsteps down the stairs.

_Dear God, no. Please don't let it be the Gestapo. Oh dear God, no!_

But it is Gretel's voice that rings out: "What the hell do you think you're doing here?" She snarls, on the edge of hysteria. Tension leaks out my body; it isn't the Gestapo. But it returns when I realise that if I am discovered the Gestapo will be called anyway.

"Calm down," Says the intruder, who seems to be a boy, with a voice on the verge of breaking but that hasn't quite got there. "I was just looking,"

"It's not your house! I said you could come in for a cup of coffee, not explore my home!"

"Bit tense aren't we, Gretel?" He gets no reply. There's an awkward silence; I sense the suspicion rising inside of him.

_Dumkopf, Gretel! _I think desperately,_ He suspects something now!_

Then I hear his shoes scrapping the floorboards. I can feel his presence getting closer as he walks nearer and nearer to the wardrobe. There's a tiny crack between the door and its frame, which forms a line of light and it disappears in an instance. Tension mounts inside of me again as I realise that the boy is standing so close to the wardrobe, I can see the individual fibres on his jersey.

"What are you hiding?" The boy says softly. I'm not sure whether he's talking to Gretel or himself. I don't particularly care, either way.

There's only one thing I care about, right now: _Please don't look in the wardrobe. Please, please, please, go away!_

I clutch the door harder, willing it to stay shut. But then I feel an outside force, pulling it open; my fingers lose their grip on the smooth wood, and the wardrobe door swings open.

I am standing there. Utterly defenceless. There mask on my face is nothing but pure fear.

The strange thing is he's wearing exactly the same expression. We just stand there, inspecting each other. I must look a sight; all skin and bones and headscarf for hair.

He doesn't look his best either; the rain's caught him off guard and his hair is soaking even though he's probably been in the dry for more than 10 minutes. He's what some girls would call cute, I guess, not that I'm bothered about such trivial things. There's dark hair that's too long to be truly German, and dazzling blue eyes that stare at me in utter shock.

"Rudy!" Gretel is suddenly standing behind him. Her hair is also dripping wet and it takes me a second to work out what has happened.

_It's raining. He walked her home, she invited him in for coffee and he ended up exploring the cellar. _I think bitterly_. And now I'm dead as a Dodo._

"Rudy, please listen, it's not what you think!" Gretel says desperately.

He doesn't look at her, just keeps staring at me. I see him lick his lips nervously, as if trying to select the appropriate words. The words he eventually settles on are about as inappropriate as possible.

"Hello," says the boy, not to Gretel, but to me. "I'm Rudy Biermann. What's your name?"

"Erm….. Anna,"

"Pleased to meet you, Anna," He sticks out a hand to shake mine. I stand there, stunned for a moment before I pull myself together and shake it. Then he frowns. "I don't suppose you could tell me, though, exactly what you're doing in Gretel's cellar?"


	7. Chapter 7

**So again…. Sorry I take ages to upload! A fractionally different point of view this time, but I won't write from Rudy's perspective very often, unless I get positive feedback about it :P I don't know what people think of him as a character, so please, please tell me if you'd rather he disappeared into the background again :P Thanks for the comments etc etc)**

**Chapter 7**

"I don't suppose you could tell me, though, exactly what you're doing in Gretel's cellar?"

I'm pretty sure that's the most stupid thing I could have thought of to say. But I reckon I've got a pretty good excuse, to be honest.

The girl doesn't answer my question; merely stares at me in utter horror. Her face is a picture of pure terror. I barely register her features though, because my mind is framed on a single thought: _There's a girl in Gretel's cellar._ I still can't get over that. It's not the fact that she- apparently called Anna- is here. It's not even the fact of who she is. She's a Jew. Obviously.

But that doesn't bother me. Mutti has always been outspoken at home, so neither me nor any of my siblings are your average Nazi robots. In other families, I'm sure the kids would report their parents for any traitorous mutterings. But that's what I love about my family; we trust each other totally. Sometimes I think we're the only one in the whole of the Reich.

I've always dreamed of doing something to help those oppressed; a way to fight back against the men who killed Hanno and Onkel and...No, I mustn't think of such things. I mustn't. The point is, I hate the whole lot of them. Sometimes, I'm so frustrated that no one else can see through it…. That the rest of the country is blind…. I've always wanted the opportunity to rebel, but so far in life growing my hair above military length is about as far as I've got in terms of rebellion. I've always wanted the opportunity to do something more, to do something really worthwhile. But I never thought I'd stumble across the opportunity in Gretel Schmidt's cellar. That is what is bothering me.

The fact that this is Gretel Schmidt's cellar.

Gretel Schmidt. Sure, I try to be friendly to her, but I'm friendly to everyone. She's pretty I guess, though I don't really care for blondes. Ironic, really, considering I'm German. But she's so aloof, so lofty and proud. You can tell her father's a senior member of the SS just by looking at her. I only found out yesterday, and I thought it made her stand-offish behaviour make sense. The way she always seems so… perfectly German…

I honestly never expected… _this_.

"Rudy, It's not what you think!" Gretel says desperately. I can hear the fear in her voice and I feel awful. I can't stand the thought of someone being scared of me. I'm the class clown, the cheery, unserious one. The one I'm sure they're watching because sometimes I get scared that it's obvious that I'm not totally loyal to the Fuhrer.

People don't need to be scared of me. I need to be scared of other people.

So I try to put Gretel at ease and with a nervous smile I turn to face her. "I think it's really brave, what you're doing here,"

"You don't know what I'm doing here!" Another desperate cry. My words have done nothing to easy her fear. She still doesn't trust me.

So I continue. "You're hiding a Jew in your cellar. That's brave. I respect you,"

"You don't understand…" She stutters as if I haven't even spoken. "What they're doing…"

"Gretel," I say firmly. "I'm not going to report you. I honestly think you are really brave and I do understand. I hate the Nazis more than you can possibly imagine. I…I want to help,"

Then I turn around to face her- Anna- and smile. "Seriously… If there's anything I can do…"

She still says nothing; her eyes are focused on Gretel, whom she obviously thinks is in charge.

Gretel frowns at me. "What do you mean by that? Why do you hate them?"

I don't want to tell her. I want to spare the world my sob story. It's private, but more than that; it's too fresh, the wound's still festering, and I still can't believe that they're gone. She's looking at me expectantly. _Well, too bad,_ I think, _my life is my business_.

I always maintain my cheerful, clownish exterior. That's the best way to hide any traitorous inner feelings. Normally I would grin and crack and joke and steer the conversation away from such a sensitive area.

But now my jokes have failed me.

I inspect the rotting wooden floorboards as I murmur a reply. "It's private,"

Gretel glares at me. "Liar. You don't hate them. You're one of them…! I can't let you go… you'll report me-us- you're a filthy Nazi, I know it!"

That's funny. Because she doesn't know. She doesn't know at all. She has no idea what I'm going to do or how I feel or what I am. How can she? I almost laugh. No one knows how I feel… except perhaps the Jewish girl standing behind me.

"You know nothing about me," I snap, my words harsher than usual. "If you did, you wouldn't make such an accusation. Besides, you're a fine one to talk. What's the daughter of an SS officer doing hiding a Jew? Shouldn't you be polishing the buttons on your Jungmadel uniform?"

Gretel turns very pink. "How do you know what my father does?" She snarls.

I shrug. I'm good at shrugging. "A friend told me," I say vaguely.

"You shouldn't believe rumours," Gretel mutters. Her cheeks redden.

"This isn't rumour though, is it?" I point out, bluntly. "You accuse me of being a filthy Nazi, yet whose father is a murderer?"

"You know nothing about what I've been through!" Gretel snarls.

"You know nothing about what _I've_ been through!" I snarl back, as a red mist descends over me. I'm not usually the angry type, but the accusation that I'm a Nazi hurts, and Gretel should know better than to make assumptions.

"Please!" says Anna's desperate voice. "Be quiet before someone hears,"

I spin around to face her and murmur an apology as Gretel speaks from behind me. "Sit down, Rudy,"

I sit awkwardly on the floor, and Gretel follows suite. Anna perches on the floor of the wardrobe.

"Look," Gretel says softly. "We lived, my parents, my brother and I in a villa at Auschwitz camp… and I know what it was like… and I feel so… terrible. And then my brother, Bruno disappeared…"

I blink. "I'm sorry," I mutter. What to make of this? I'm sure she's being genuine, but I don't know how to respond…

But Anna smiles and says. "So maybe we should trust each other, I'm usually a good judge of character, and Gretel, he's like no Nazi I've ever met. He's far too nice!"

Gretel laughs. And I laugh, my natural disposition returning to me. I'm Rudy Biermann, the class clown, the cheery, unserious one. I'm thrilled to finally be able to disappear back behind my comic veil. I'm thrilled that conversation has taken a different course. Because the base way with dealing with things is to pretend they don't exist.

So I crack a bad joke and somehow a stilted conversation morphs into something that resembles a normal chat between normal friends. It's just talking. Talking about the most random, incredible things. Mainly Anna and I, but Gretel does make some contribution.

And we laugh and laugh and laugh, albeit quiet, for fear of attracting attention from upstairs. But it's genuine and wonderful and it takes our minds of our many, many problems.

I don't want to leave, but I realise it's getting late and Mutti will be petrified. Petrified that I've gone the same way as Hanno. Gretel accompanies me to the door way, and her mother also bids farewell, but not before she has popped the worst possible question, with arched eyebrows. "What is it, exactly, that you've been doing in the cellar?"

I see Gretel freeze with horror, but I'm here to save the day. That's my role. "A project for school," I saw sweetly. "We wanted the peace and quiet, and it's certainly an engaging environment!"

And then I'm running all the way home, knowing I'm in a lot of trouble for being so late home. The door opens before I have the chance to knock. Not a good sign. Mutti's been staring out the window, waiting for me.

"Rudy!" She splutters, ushering me inside. "I've been worried sick!"

"I'm sorry," I mutter guiltily. "I was at friend's house,"

"Then why didn't you tell me!"

I shrug. "It was spontaneous, I forgot. I'm sorry,"

"I worry about you, you know that," Mutti shakes her head. After what happened to Hanno, I can't blame her. Hanno is…was…. My brother. The best brother I could've wished for. Two years older than me and my best friend. Gone, along with Onkel Heinz and Tante Magda…. It's so weird, to think that I will never see any of them again. And it's Hitler's fault. Dear God, I genuinely wish I could kill the man myself. I'm sure I'm the only person in the Reich who wants the British or the Americans (though not the Russians) to arrive. And they will arrive. But I can't help but think this won't bring back the family members I have lost.

But I push such thoughts out my head. It hurts too much. Besides I have other thinks to concern myself with.

More important things.

Which is why, after the next day, I smuggle food in my satchel, follow Gretel home after school and spend another two hours with the only girl whose ever been able to make me laugh. And Gretel of course.

She appreciates the food, I know, but I hope she appreciates the company as well. Two friends for company in the evenings

The best thing is, we have a cover story for spending time in the cellar. The school project was a genius idea, if I don't say so myself. The three of us even worked out the details of what it is about, just in case anyone inquires further.

It's an hour later that Anna summons the courage to ask the question I never want to answer. I know she's going to ask it because she speaks tentatively. "Rudy? Can-Can I ask you a question?"

If anyone else in the world asked that question I'd ignore it, or skirt around the subject. But Anna is a Jew. She's suffered more than anyone under the Nazis, so for the first time in my life I feel inclined to tell.

So when she does say the words, I know I will finally have to answer. Then somebody will know.

"What happened to make you hate the Nazis so much?"


	8. Chapter 8

**So it's been ages, I know, sorry about that!**

**Chapter 8**

"What happened to make you hate the Nazis so much?"

Anna's question startles me. Considering Rudy's reactions yesterday, I'm surprised she bothered. I see Rudy Biermann tense, as if preparing himself for the pain of answering such a question. I watch him curiously as he forces out words.

"My brother.'

His brother. He doesn't need to elaborate for me to know. I can see it in his face, in his eyes… Like Anna and me, he has lost a brother, and I bet at the hands of the Nazis as well.

"What happened?' I ask tentatively, half expecting him to refuse to divulge any more information.

He looks away. 'He was an idiot,' Rudy mumbles. 'Hanno, my brother… He was sixteen years old and the biggest idiot you can imagine. But he was… my best friend, too.' I see his face crease up at these words and I understand how hard it must be for him. But I'm curious, and I can't not be, so I look at him questioningly and wait for him to speak again. 'He- Hanno, he started hanging around with the wrong people. I don't know exactly what he was doing, but he started… well, he started to have different opinions. And the stupid kid that he was, he decided to express them in leaflets and leave those in doorways and telephone boxes. Well, he didn't have a hope in hell of getting away with _that_, did he?!"

Rudy forces a laugh, but it doesn't disguise the tears that leak down his cheeks.

"Oh, Rudy," I whisper. "I'm sorry…"

Anna is silent as Rudy continues. "They arrested my Onkel and Tante as well," he says miserably. "They were hiding a Jew, you see. We're lucky they didn't arrest the rest of the family as well, really, because we'd been giving them extra food. They should have arrested us but they didn't…"

I can see him becoming more and more agitated. But I don't stop him, because I'm scared he'll snap. Besides, he's on a roll now…

"And now Hanno, and Onkel and Tante are dead, and we're okay! And of course, they would have tortured them first, to see what else they knew…"

That is the bond. The bond that binds us together. Despite all the differences between us, we are bound by the loss of a brother, each able to empathise with the other's pain. The one thing we have in common, is perhaps the most horrendous thing of all. Losing a brother to the Nazis. It's not a great conversation starter.

He starts crying. Rudy, who always seems to joke and laugh and take nothing seriously, starts to sob so pitifully that I go to put my arm around him. Except, I stop myself, because Anna puts her arm around him first. Rudy rests his head on her bony shoulder. I feel out of it, and the selfish brat within me is slightly annoyed that it's not me doing the comforting.

"It's alright," Anna says softly.

Rudy shrugs. "Not really," he mutters. "But I hope you trust that I'm not a Nazi anymore."

"I never thought you were," says Anna.

"She did," Rudy looks pointedly at me. I look away, embarrassed.

"I don't anymore," I mumble.

"I know."

Through tear stained cheeks, Rudy smiles at me. I smile back. Before long we have fallen into trivial talk all over again.

When it is time for Rudy to leave, I volunteer to go with him.

"I need to buy some stationary from the shop first," He says.

I shrug. "I'll come anyway. I need the air."

It's true; the cellar is far too stuffy. I feel bad that Anna can't join us, but at the same time I need to get outside. Rudy grins at me, obviously appreciating the company.

As we wonder down the street, the first few droplets rain down from the heavens. Rudy laughs at my expression. I don't like rain; it messes up my hair and gets in my eyes.

"It's only rain," he teases. I swat him away, and tell him to shut up. But I can't help laughing. Rudy Biermann maybe extraordinarily annoying, but he does make me laugh. And when there's a war on, and it's not going so well, and there's a Jew in your cellar and you're scared of being shot… well laughing really does make the difference.

So we wander down the street, chatting, acting sort of normal.

"Who's that, Biermann?" From nowhere a scratchy, obnoxious shout attracts our attention. "Is it your girlfriend?!"

For all his faults, Rudy manages the situation well. "Shut your mouth, Fleischer. Just because you've never spoken to a girl…" He leaves the words hanging and shakes his head despairingly. As for me, my cheeks burn red and my eyes flicker in every direction but that of the boys and Rudy.

There's a group of soldiers outside a café; laughing, so I feel my eyes focus on them. That's odd, really. I wonder what they're doing here… surely soldiers should be fighting, at the front? They're young soldiers as well, not Home Guard types, but early 20 arrogant types. I look again as I realise they're not wearing normal uniforms…

"What are SS soldiers doing here, I wonder,' Rudy mutters, curiously.

SS. Of course. Now we're closer I can see clearly the colour of their worn uniforms, and even make out the skull on their caps.

Skull. Death's Head. _Totenkopf_.

_Ach mein Gott_.

In a second it is obvious who the soldiers are and why they're hear. I freeze, my heart heavy with fear. It's so very obvious why they're here; their work is only a stone's throw away.

"Rudy," I mutter. "Let's go somewhere else…"

I try to steer him away, to force him to walk in the opposite direction, to get away from the soldiers, but not before I see…

_Him…_

Lieutenant Kurt Kotler.

My heart beat seems impossibly loud. All it takes is for Kotler to glance up and I am dead. I spin around and physically force Rudy to walk the other way.

"But I need to buy-" he starts to say.

"Another time," I snap.

"What is it? What's happened?" Rudy forces me to a stop and glances behind us. "The soldiers?" he guesses. "What about them? Sure, they're scary, but they don't care about people walking past, you know."

"I'll tell you later," I mumble. I can't stop myself from glancing behind as well. The sight of the SS uniforms makes me shiver. "But seriously, we need to go…"

And the worst happens.

As I am glancing nervously at the SS soldiers, Kurt Kotler looks up. For a fleeting second our eyes meet. His widen in surprise, which then turns to shock, which thus becomes anger.

"_HALT!_" he's screams as he lurches to his feet. He reaches for his gun as the other soldiers stare, utterly confused. They're not the only ones.

Rudy notices that it is us Kurt Kotler is addressing as he pushes soldiers out the way. His eyes widen, in shock, in fear… There's no time to explain. I grab Rudy's hand. It's cold and smooth. I pull him away, but he hesitates… "Gretel," he stutters. "What-?"

No time. Kurt breaks free of the crowd.

"Run, Rudy!" I scream. "Just _Run!_


End file.
